


Verses that fell through the cracks

by FFFantasies



Series: Lyrics curling like Leaves [4]
Category: Filthy Frank Show - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 00:18:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10842501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FFFantasies/pseuds/FFFantasies
Summary: Pieces that fit into the Lyrics Verse but not within the main body of work.





	1. Sing Me Whole

Sometimes his hands start to shake and they don’t stop, he has to sit on them, or shove them in his pockets to keep the worried, curious eyes off of him. He can’t risk anyone noticing his hands when he’s in public because it’s like a red flag, a nice big sign telling the world who he is or at least who he’s been involved with. Even if he has a fake identity here, he doesn’t doubt he’d get stopped by the police or any other authority figures.

He can barely feel his own fingers when he curls them into a fist against his palm and that’s bad but he’s almost home. He can ask Frank to make him something warm when he gets home and then he can take enough pain killers to knock him out for the next ten days. Or well, maybe he shouldn’t od on pain killers, maybe he could get Frank to cuddle on the couch or something while he waited for whatever he did take to kick in.

His hands are shaking so bad by the time he gets upstairs that his keys slip fall so many times he just ends up pounding on the door. There’s a few seconds wait and he thinks maybe Frank isn’t even home before the door’s being pulled open and…Frank looks bad. He rarely wears his shades in the house anymore, or at least around Kohe, but he has them on now and Kohe can see the redness on the sides of his face.

“…there’s coffee in the kitchen, I’ll get the oxy,” Frank adds, bending to get the keys Kohe dropped and he sounds tired; Kohe’s heard that voice before. He’s heading for the kitchen though because he can’t do anything when his hands are like this, he can’t think beyond the constant ache and yes he complains about it a lot but it always hurts. The one time he told Frank about it, biting his lip in the dark and holding onto Frank tight, he’d barely been able to get the words out of his swollen throat.

Frank got him oxycodone the next day and Kohe has never asked how, he doesn’t think he wants to know.

“ _Thank you_ ,” he murmurs in Japanese because English is too hard right now, the words are too jumbled in his head and he can’t think about much except Frank. Frank’s pouring him a cup of coffee and his hands are steady, Frank’s pressing the pills to Kohe’s lips, waiting for him to open his mouth before carefully wrapping his numb, aching, shaking hands around the mug. Frank holds the mug with him, guides it to his lips and Kohe takes a sip of the deliciously warm coffee

He thinks he should feel embarrassed needing Frank’s help, needing Frank to help him drink like he’s a child or an invalid but, but it’s Frank. Frank knows him, Frank can always figure out when he wants to be held, held and rocked because his mind is running on a hundred but his body is at negative ten. Frank knows when to hold his shaking hands still, like now, knows that Kohe can’t hold the mug himself and needs help.

Frank helps him hold the mug, doesn’t do it for him because he knows Kohe doesn’t want that, he just needs a little help. He drinks all of it like that, breathing out slowly as the warmth seeps into his hands and he starts being able to feel again. Frank’s hand is cold, even holding the hot cup and that’s strange.

“ _Can we smoke_?” Kohe asks when Frank takes the cup from his hand and puts it in the sink. His fingers are stiff, the scars on his palms are itchy; the scars from his split knuckles are itchy too and the ones from slamming his hand on broken glass. Something clenches painfully in his gut as he stares down at his hands, at the scars and missing pieces; it hurts even more when he thinks back to what they used to be.

He thinks about the times his teachers would have him perform in front of a wall of mirrors so he could correct himself. He remembers the way his hair used to be combed back out of his face and his glasses would be placed precisely on his nose. So many of his teachers would tell him he had musical fingers, long and slender, perfect for playing instruments; piano, violin, guitar, flute. They were one of the things he took pride in; his hands, the way he could make beautiful music with his hands, and how easy it was to do.

“Balcony or roof?” Frank asks and Kohe snaps to attention, he feels himself slipping; not physically of course but close. He doesn’t wear his glasses here, he doesn’t keep his hair neat, he can’t play anymore and he’s been so alone for so long he forgot what it was like to speak and have someone answer him.

“ _Balcony_?” he answers but it sounds confused, questioning, Frank understands though. Frank takes him by the hand and Kohe can feel the cold fingers rubbing his knuckles, tracing the scars. He wouldn’t let anyone else do this, no one else would be allowed to touch his hands like this; if they weren’t Frank, Kohe would’ve hit them and run as fast as he could. This is Frank though, and he trusts Frank

They’re the only ones out on the balcony, technically the fire escape, but that’s normal. The blue tinge of twilight is just fading from the sky and everything is going dark but the streetlights are popping on one at a time. Kohe remembers when he’d take his glasses off and everything would go soft, lights would blur and everything would feel so far away. Now the only time he can’t see is at night before he goes to bed and takes his contacts out, it never feels the same because he’s tired, he’s not thinking about anything then.

“ _I used to wear glasses,”_ he says, breathing deep and glancing at Frank from the corner of his eye. Frank’s got a cigarette between his lips, is bringing the lighter up, Kohe notices the red around his eyes more now, sees the little bit of blood from split lips. He wonders what Frank was doing before he got home and feels the same pain in his gut when he realises he could ask and Frank would answer. He wants to ask, he wants to know because he’s not as good as Frank at knowing when to help, what to do, but he’ll try his fucking best.

“ _My music teachers said they were sophisticated_ ,” he adds when Frank nods, taking a drag but saying nothing. Kohe wants to reach out, to take the shades off and touch the red spots on Frank’s face but he doesn’t think he should. He isn’t sure what he should do, so he looks out at the buildings and pretends everything is soft and blurred again; far away and simple.

“Kohe, I-” Frank starts and stops and Kohe turns back to look at him. Frank’s holding his hair, tugging on it, and Kohe knows Frank’s agitated, can see his jaw working even though he doesn’t say anything. He reaches out for the cigarette and Frank gives it to him easily, he reaches for Frank’s face and Frank doesn’t step away.

He breathes in the smoke and Frank swallows hard, Kohe doesn’t say anything because he knows Frank is looking for the words to say what’s on his mind. Kohe just cups Frank’s face and strokes his thumb over Frank’s cheekbone, traces the line of his lips and breathes out the smoke. He knows Frank can feel the thick scar against his cheek, and he knows Frank can feel the stub where his pinkie is too short, missing the first joint. He doesn’t care though because this is Frank and Frank knows more about him than anyone else.

“Why do you care about me? I’m not a real person,” Frank says quietly in the same voice Kohe knows. He knows that voice because he uses it too, whenever he’s too tired, too…sad, in too much pain, he uses that voice. He knows about the throat that feels so swollen and tight it feels like choking and he knows about the jaw that feels locked. He knows about the clawing inside his own head, the way it’s like screaming and silence at once because there aren’t any real words inside of your head.  

“ _You feel like a real person to me. You sound like a real person. You take care of me when I need help, you rejected a creature that was probably a God and I don’t believe fake people could do any of that,”_ he states as plainly as he can, still in Japanese because it’s his mother tongue and he doesn’t think English would let him say what he wants. English feels heavy on his tongue sometimes, even though he’s fluent in it, he still stumbles over what he means and how to say it.

“ _I care because I l-love you. You tell me bad jokes and you hold me want I feel like I’m breaking. You share smokes with me and accept what I’ve done, how many people would do that? F-Frank, you were interesting to me, and I w-wanted to be your friend, and then I wanted more because y-you’re y-you are_ …” he trails off, looking away because he doesn’t know what he wants to say. Even in his mother tongue it feels like too much, too little, he doesn’t know how to make Frank know what he means.

“ _I care for you because b-ecause you care for me_?” he tries, peaking at Frank from under his bangs and smiling a watery smile. Frank makes him feel like he can be himself, Frank makes him feel like emotion and pain and heart ache aren’t shameful, are something he can share.

“ _I love you,”_ he repeats because he does, he needs Frank to know that, he needs Frank to know without a doubt. He still has a hand on Frank’s face so he feels the blush more than sees it, even though he does notice the dusting of red.

“I-I. Kohe, I,” Frank stutters and then he’s wrapping his arms around Kohe’s shoulders and the cigarette falls from his fingers, he doesn’t bother with it because it was nearly burned out anyway. Frank’s face is pressed to the crook of his neck and Kohe feels the wetness of tears more than hears the sobbing that’s muffled against his skin.

He holds Frank, holds him tight and pets his head. Kohe holds Frank as tight as he can, hums one of the few pieces he can without wanting to run. He doesn’t say anything because he knows that’s not what Frank needs, not words just physicality and Kohe’s willing to stay out on the balcony as long as Frank needs.

By the time Frank cries himself out, Kohe’s shirt is wet but he doesn’t care, Frank’s shades fell and Kohe doesn’t know when but he doesn’t stop to pick them up. He leads Frank back instead by the hand, doesn’t say anything because Frank still doesn’t need words. He takes Frank to his room because he has the bigger bed and gets Frank under the covers, takes off his hat and helps him out of his shirt because Frank doesn’t like sleeping in it.

Kohe changes his wet shirt while Frank fixes himself against the wall, back pressed flush against it and the last thing Kohe does before joining him is take out his contacts. The room's dark and there’s not much to see but it goes blurred anyway, the way it used to before, and Kohe wonders what Frank’s face would look like now. He climbs into bed, finds Frank and wraps himself around the other man. He presses a kiss to Frank’s cheek, his forehead, his lips and hums the song again, hums until Frank’s breathing evens out.

Kohe hums until he can’t anymore, until he falls asleep too and all of his dreams are full of music; symphonies and sonnets, violins and pianos, Frank laughing and his own voice speaking without a stammer.


	2. I know he's so nice

e has nice hands; long, slim fingers and almost narrow palms, Frank wonders what they looked like flying across a piano or over the strings of a violin. He wonders what Kohe looked like playing music, if he swayed in time with the violin or nodded along to the piano. He thinks back to the violinist he saw nearly two years ago performing for Chin Chin and his important yakuza friends. Frank wonders if Kohe was better than that guy, if Kohe knew that guy; there couldn’t be that many violinists playing for the yakuza after all.

“W-what are you thinking a-bout, Franku?” Kohe asks, tone light and playful as they cut through the abandoned plot of land. Frank smiles and reaches for one of Kohe’s hands, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently. Kohe’s wearing the gloves Frank got him, the leather ones with the tight stitching and careful seams, he can’t feel any of the scars through them which is exactly how Kohe likes it. Frank wants to peel them off, to kiss every inch of smooth and scarred skin he can, speak all the words he’s too awkward to say into them.

“How do you like the realm?” he says instead, glancing up at the literal half-moon above them. This is one of those semi-abandoned realms that’s just a little too close to Chin Chin’s territory for most people and it’s almost an exact replica of the one they came from. The people here know him, in a way, they’re afraid of him and they respect him because they know what he’s done. He brought Kohe here because he knows all the little bolt holes, he knows how to run and how to hide here.

“N-new Haven’s nice,” Kohe answers, an actual answer and he squeezes Frank’s hand because he knows what Frank can’t say. And there’s so much he wants to say, so many things he wants to thank Kohe for and so many things he wants to confess and admit but he can’t get the words out of his mouth. He wants to tell Kohe how…beautiful he looks right now.

He can only see in black and white, monochromes of grey, and usually he’s trying to compensate for it, trying to fit in whatever colours he thinks should exist. Kohe’s the first person he’s met in a long time that just…exists. Kohe’s painted in shades of white, his skin, his pouting lips, his scars and the bags under his eyes. Kohe’s painted in shades of black, his hair, his eyes, his hands in those gloves, his legs go on for miles in his black jeans.

Kohe just exists, doesn’t demand anything of him, doesn’t need anything from him and Frank wants to give him the world. He wants to worship this man like he did a false God, he wants to kiss every single scar and mark he can find, he wants to cover white-pale skin with the impression of his mouth, his fingers.

Frank wants to feel those fox’s lips against his throat, or at his ear, saying all the filthy things he knows Kohe wants. He wants to feel those slim fingers spread wide on his chest, or cupping his ass, or wrapped tight around his cock. He wants to offer himself up to this man, to kneel in front of him with his mouth hanging open and his heart in his hands and it’s only a metaphor this time.  

“Up here,” Frank says when they finally get to the end of the bush and back out onto the street. New Haven’s a city, just like New York, but there’s less people and less, less civilization on a whole. There are skyscrapers with overgrown plots next to them, dilapidated apartment buildings next to newly built suburbs. New Haven’s a chaotic mix of opposites, or maybe past and present?

He doesn’t really give a fuck because he’s leading Kohe by the hand, through the front door of a building that’s familiar and not because he has an apartment here. This one is a perfect copy of the apartment building they live in and it’s always so fucking strange walking through the doorway and not finding Kohe. Oh and the billboard, fucking billboard.

“Pretty,” Kohe murmurs when Frank shoves a key in the lock and throws open the door. The whole hallway washes with probably neon colours then darkness when Frank closes the door behind them. The far wall’s actually glass windows, streaky from never being cleaned but still letting in enough light to make the place look like it’s fucking day time. Frank had never bought curtains because all he had to do was hit the mattress at night to pass the fuck out.

“Rent was already low before that fucking thing, now it’s dirt cheap,” Frank explains when the billboard switches advertisements again and now it’s something about teen smoking or some cancer. Kohe’s taking careful steps around the empty living room but he doesn’t need to there’s really nothing much in this apartment. Frank used to stay here before he moved in with Kohe but he’d never lived here, he slept on a mattress in the corner of the living room and he ate in some restaurant or the other when he needed too.

Honestly, Frank had no idea how he’d survived those first few weeks after the fight. He’d crawled back here, stumbled all the way through the door and collapsed onto the creaky wooden floor. Even the bright ass billboard hadn’t been enough to wake him up then and he still had no idea how long he’d spent drifting in and out of consciousness but that’s, that’s over.

Now Kohe’s spreading his arms wide as he walks through the completely empty room, doing small spins and tipping his head back. Frank wonders what colour’s washing over them now, maybe it’s red turning them bloody and furious, maybe it’s cool and blue, maybe it’s warm and yellow. He watches Kohe do another spin, sees the wide smile on his face, sees him mouthing words to a song maybe and pushes off from the door.

He catches Kohe around the waist, grabs at a hand and laces their fingers together again. They fall into step so easy, swaying together, moving together and dancing to nothing but the beat of their hearts. Kohe kept a hand on his waist and Frank kept one on the small of Kohe’s back as they moved, dancing across the living room with the creaky boards and back across once, twice, before Kohe started humming something.

Frank doesn’t recognise the song but he doesn’t care, he drops his head to Kohe’s shoulder and closes his useless eyes. He breathes in deep and smells the fabric softener Kohe likes to use, and he smells vanilla body wash and he smells lavender lotion and it’s so calming, so nice. He listens to the soft humming, tries to pick out words, and he listens to the steady beat of Kohe’s heart and remembers all the times he stayed up at night listening to it through a wall when he couldn’t get to sleep himself.

“I love you,” Kohe whispers as they sway in place and Frank swallows hard, no matter how many times he hears it, his heart will always thump painfully with those words. His grip tightens on Kohe’s back, almost digging into the skin.

“You l-look beautiful, Franku,” Kohe sighs as they swing around and they’re leaning against a wall now. They’re pressed together, breathing in each other’s breaths and just there and Frank doesn’t think he’s ever felt this…good. They’re sinking to their knees without saying a word, their backs are to the wall and Frank keeps his eyes closed.

They’re touching, at the knees, at the hips and all along their sides. Every time Kohe breathes, Frank feels it and he wonders if Chin Chin could’ve ever given him this. He knows Chin Chin couldn’t so he reaches up, cups Kohe’s cheek and turns his face for a kiss.

They kiss slow and deep, tongues sliding together and groaning into each other. Kohe reaches up to take off his hat and Frank searches until he finds one of Kohe’s hands. The glove is warm against his hand, the leather feels well-worn and he’s glad he paid the extra money for the fur lining because he had wanted Kohe to be comfortable. Now he’s peeling them off, pulling on the tip of each finger to loosen the hold and lifting from the wrists until first one glove then both are on the floor.

There’s nothing rushed or hurried or desperate about it, there’s need yeah but it’s not immediate. Frank climbs into Kohe’s lap, lifts and plucks at a hoodie and a t-shirt and a vest until he’s got his hands on Kohe’s hips, flesh on flesh warm, solid and real. Kohe slips his hands into Frank’s back pockets, groping his ass but it’s not hard and he doesn’t have to worry about marks on his ass later.

They stay like that for a while, kissing and holding each other, rocking into each other because Frank’s legs are spread wide enough to almost brush their crotches together. The creeping lust is just clouding over his senses with musk, with sweat, with the faintest smell of sex when Kohe breaks the kiss. Frank blinks dazed, stupid, stares at the string of saliva between their lips and makes a hurt noise when it breaks, tries to lean in for another kiss.

“Shhh, Franku, do you w-want me to f-fuck you?” Kohe whispers, one hand moving from his ass to tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear and Frank tilts his head into the touch. His heart is beating faster but still steady and even though he feels dazed he’s still, he’s still floating on warm fuzziness. He can breathe and he can think, there’s no urgency to take, take, take before it’s taken away and there’s no need to work for what he wants.

He can just ask.

“I want to feel you, against me, I just want to feel you,” he repeats in a voice so quiet he almost thinks Kohe didn’t hear him. He doesn’t…Chin Chin wasn’t-Kohe isn’t Chin Chin.

“You want to feel my c-cock against yours, Franku?” Kohe asks but it doesn’t sound like a question, it sounds like a confirmation and Frank feels something loosen in his chest. He didn’t even realise it was tight, he thought he was as relaxed as he could possibly be but he as so fucking wrong. He all but slumps against Kohe, holding himself up by one arm braced against the wall.

“ _Feel our dicks slipping against each other? Do you want to fuck into our lube slick hands, Franku_?” Kohe asks, slipping into Japanese as smooth as a fish in the water. Frank shivers with the words, swallows hard a few times because _yes_ , that’s _exactly_ what he wants. He can’t speak, he doesn’t think he can at least, but he’s nodding so hard his hair is falling in his face and everything’s a blur.

There’s lube from…somewhere, and the sound of Kohe unzipping both their pants sends another shiver down his spine. He breathes sharply when he smells the arousal thick on both of them, he breathes sharply when Kohe’s slim fingers wrap around his cock. Both of them gasp when their dicks brush, then again when Frank’s hand joins Kohe’s to wrap around both of them.

“Fuck,” Frank hisses as he bucks up, slow enough that he can feel every single inch of Kohe’s dick against his and he can feel Kohe’s fingers sticky with lube. He whines low in his throat when Kohe bucks too and he has to brace against the wall to keep from falling forward because god, this is.

This is nothing like what he expected, there’s some kind of intimacy here that’s, that’s different from having a dick up his ass. He’s not on his back panting, moaning and struggling to get just a little bit of friction and he’s not on his knees, arms threatening to give out under him as he’s fucked within an inch of consciousness. He gets to look Kohe in the face, see his eyes glaze over with slow, creeping lust and he gets to catch pretty pink lips in a kiss that burns in the best way.

They take turns fucking up into the circle of their hands, try to establish some kind of rhythm but it’s a lost cause and they just do their best. They kiss and it lasts so long Frank feels light headed when they break apart and he’s sure he’ll never get the taste of Kohe out of his mouth, no that he’d want to. He licks his lips and rests his face in the crook of the other man’s neck then he reaches for Kohe’s free hand and brings it up to his face.

He presses it to his face, breathes in deep and catches the last of dregs of cigarette smoke. He runs his lips over the scar, the thick one that’s actually not as straight as it looks, he can feel the little stretches where the knife shook. He kisses the fingers, these musician’s fingers and he wonders about the music they made. His breath hitches and feathers as Kohe strokes both of their cocks, thumbing the heads and smearing precum and lube.

There’s nothing but the sound of their moans and whines and whimpers, usually in tandem, and the wet sound of their cocks slipping together. Personally, Frank thinks this is better than any music because there’s no chance music could capture the need in a whine or the satisfaction in a groan but that’s just his opinion. His opinion that nothing in the world looks better than Kohe’s slack jaw and half closed, dazed eyes as he cums all over his own hand.

His opinion that nothing could possibly sound better than the breathy, hitching, deep voiced moan that tore its way out of Kohe’s throat as he came. Frank shuddered and gasped as he came not two seconds later, forcing his eyes open to look at that face as long as he could, as much as he could. This was so different from what he was used to, from having his face shoved into a pillow or his eye sight taken from him and it was a change for the fucking better.

He licked his lips, tasted Kohe on them, he breathed deep and smelt the thick, musky, heady scent of their cum mixing together and if he could, he would’ve cum again. Instead of trying to get it back up so soon though, he looks at Kohe’s face some more and leans in to lick a drop of sweat racing down the man’s throat.

Then he works on leaving a nice bright mark while Kohe works to catch his breath and cards a hand through Frank’s sweaty hair. So different from what he was used to.

_“Love you, Franku.”_

Yeah real fucking different, thank God.


End file.
